


i buried in my sleep for him

by buries



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen, Half-Sibling Incest, Season/Series 04, Speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-31
Updated: 2012-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-23 01:56:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/616786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buries/pseuds/buries
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>first thing first, april young does not undagger rebekah mikaelson.</i> or the one where rebekah gets revenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i buried in my sleep for him

**Author's Note:**

> I know Plec said Rebekah would be going after Stefan first, then Klaus, or something to that effect, but, for me, I kind of like the notion of Rebekah showing no mercy to the man who continues to play her like a fiddle and treat her like she’s expendable. This is partly inspired by that, as well as Stefan and Caroline’s conversation about how they’re no different to Klaus, who has been painted in black and white as the villain of this story.
> 
> au on 4x09’s ending. Title is from Ellie Goulding's _My Blood_. Still for Jay as I do not write K/R for anyone else but her.

First thing first, April Young does not undagger Rebekah Mikaelson.

*

What you ought to know is:

The guilt swells up in Stefan to the point where it’s intoxicating. The aftertaste isn’t one that makes him crave for more, or one that fuels his hunger; it weighs him down, tastes like copper, and it’s why he remains calm while Caroline almost rips herself out of her own skin at the mention of Mrs Lockwood’s death.

“Caroline,” he says, softly, to stop her ranting. Almost immediately, she stops, mid-sentence, mid-vowel, and looks at him, waiting. They always turn to him for something, for leadership or guidance, or for him to slip in as a distraction while the big bad wolf slips a knife into his sister’s back. He takes his time glancing at her, his eyes on the flames, hoping that, maybe, the heat will burn up his guilt rather than causing it to curdle in his stomach. “I know how we can stop Klaus.”

Caroline blinks, pushing herself to the edge of the couch. Her fingers grip it tightly. She hasn’t allowed herself to let the news of another child in Mystic Falls being left orphaned due to the supernatural entities it houses hit her properly. She grips onto optimism and denial like it’s a lifeboat; the way she looks at him suggests he’s it. “What?” she snaps, eyebrows raised high. “What, Stefan? If you know something -”

Stefan has never been good at speaking. Instead, he rises, knowing Caroline, within seconds, will be his shadow.

Where he takes her is off the grid.

*

She almost slams him into a tree, as if that’ll knock some sense into him, but what she does is merely stop in her tracks and glare at him, and that’s enough to make him pause and explain.

“Are you serious?” Stefan opens his mouth to retort but Caroline doesn’t allow him. “If we want to hit him where it hurts, call Elijah!”

“Elijah can physically take him down,” Stefan says, patiently. Caroline gestures with her arm a _duh!_ but he ignores it. “We need someone who can _emotionally_ cripple him. He’s not invincible there.”

“But -”

“You know as well as I do that Klaus is physically unstoppable.”

Caroline sighs, head tilting to the side. Her shoulders fall, the pent-up determination to set him on the right path slips away from her like water. “I just hope this isn’t going to be one of your mistakes, Stefan.”

*

What happens is:

Stefan’s not the one who removes the dagger.

He opens the coffin, leaning against it to ensure the lid doesn’t slam shut and wake Rebekah from her deep slumber. His eyes never hit her face, lingering on her neck, to the grey shade of her skin, to the veins that twist and wind as if serpents underneath water.

Caroline’s nimble fingers wrap around the dagger, but don’t pull. Glancing up at him, her brows pull together, “Are you sure about this? She kind of wants your head on a stick.”

Stefan takes a deep breath in before his gaze moves to Caroline’s. He nods.

Her expression states as clear as day that this isn’t a good idea, and Stefan knows it’s not, that he’s got a target on his head the moment her eyes will open, but he knows he never felt good about the original plan that had Rebekah back in her coffin. He went along with it to preserve himself, to preserve Elena, and he knows he’s going to pay for it; Stefan may do stupid things, like push his empathy into the background, but he is well aware actions have consequences. What he doesn’t tell Caroline is he’s unsure if he can face the consequences of this particular action just yet.

Caroline pulls the dagger out. He’s not the one that pockets it.

It’s slow, and painful, keeping him antsy, making him want to run as far from this cellar as possible, but Caroline’s steps back keep his feet planted firmly to the gravel as the grey of Rebekah’s skin blurs into cream. 

It’s instant, the crushing impact of the stone wall against his spine. Pushing against the bone, Rebekah bares her teeth, her eyes uncaring and cold and pained. 

“Rebekah!” Caroline’s at her side, hands on Rebekah’s shoulders, trying to pull her off, but she doesn’t. Rebekah’s grip is hard around Stefan’s neck, blocking off the air to his lungs effectively. Her face doesn’t move while Caroline’s is fluttering with panic. “Seriously, it’s not Stefan’s fault! It’s Klaus’! Take it out on Klaus.”

Stefan knows Rebekah doesn’t hear her shrills, even as they bounce continuously off the cave walls. Her fingers only dig into the flesh of his neck even more. 

“He’s the one who slipped the dagger in your chest.”

That makes her grip drop completely.

*

She hears them out, unwillingly, however. Caroline holding the stake keeps her at bay. She may be older and faster, but Caroline is slippery and determined, and while he knows Rebekah can snap her in half, she’s not an idiot. 

Rebekah does not run, but she does wait patiently after she slams Stefan into the walls of the cellar, knocking his bones in his neck into a nice sounding snap. As for Caroline, sitting on the floor wiht Stefan’s head in her lap, Rebekah merely smiles at her, tapping her foot to the silent rhythm of Stefan’s neck righting itself and for him to have a gasping breath she has started to perfect over her few years of playing the cat and mouse game with a dagger.

*

What happens next occurs in five stages:

 

The first: 

Rebekah snaps Stefan’s wrists in half, but not before she snaps his neck. Caroline she spares, merely giving her a glare as she paces the floor of the Salvatore Boarding House. Her skin itches, her feet ache with the task of carrying her weight on the hard floor, while her fingers yearn to rip Stefan’s skin right from his bones.

Caroline’s pleading doesn’t make matters any better.

“So why is it that you decide to undagger me now?” she says, voice loud, overshadowing Caroline’s with how it vibrates in the dark and cold room. Arms crossed, she glares at Stefan, but he’s lying unconscious on the ground.

Caroline mimicks her posture, her stance reeking with irritation, but with one glance towards the heap of Stefan’s limbs, concern shades her face. “Klaus killed twelve hybrids.”

Rebekah finds her attention slap onto Caroline’s skinny little figure. She calculates she can snap her in half in under five seconds, pull her arms from its sockets and break all the bones of her ribs without breaking a sweat. She’s not quite sure why she feels as though Caroline has done this to _her_ with four stupid words. “What?”

“He killed them all,” Caroline says, looking earnest. Rebekah remains quiet, trying to detect a lie. “He found out they were unsiring themselves and he just - he just snapped.” She tacks on, like as though Rebekah’s meant to care, “He killed Tyler’s mom.”

Rolling her neck, Rebekah takes the few steps to close the distance between her and Stefan’s body. She kicks him in the shin. “And what am I supposed to do?” her voice is hard again. 

“Get revenge,” Caroline says, simply, as though it’s that easy. “He put you in that coffin because of them -”

Rebekah’s in her face instantly. “Why he put me in that coffin is none of your business,” she says through gritted teeth. Her finger is pointing at Caroline, almost like a dagger, and the other girl takes one step back, as if one is allowing her to appear defiant rather than fearful. With a deep breath in, Rebekah turns, pacing the floor slowly, her heels clicking hard against the wood. “So, Nik’s without his hybrids.”

Her back is to Caroline when she nods. She hears it, not needing to hear her reaffirm what Rebekah knew the moment she awoke. “He’s all alone,” she muses, before turning. “Good,” she says, eyes zeroing in on Caroline. 

She doesn’t snap her neck, but she does empty half of the Salvatore liquor sitting on the table as she waits for Stefan to wake up.

 

 

The second: 

Rebekah break’s Stefan’s ankles. Revenge for Stefan has never been a part of her master plan while she remain in slumber due to Klaus’ daggers. Like she, he’s merely a pawn on a greater chessboard, one where neither of them have control of their movements as the king manipulates the strings to push them into positions that do not allow them to ever return from. She sees it with the way the Salvatore yearns for Elena, with the way the Barbie aches for something more.

She ignores it all, though. Pretending she is ready to snap at the merest notion of not following what she requests and demands is much more satisfying than displaying she’s sympathetic to their pathetic plights.

“That’s the most idiotic plan I’ve ever heard,” she rolls her eyes, moving towards where the alcohol sits on a small table. Stefan groans in pain. “Nik cannot be daggered. I won’t allow it.”

“He daggered you,” Stefan groans out. “Why?”

“It’s easy,” she says, turning around to eye him. “I want him to not be merely put on pause. I want him to suffer for what he did to me.”

And that is, quite possibly, her first mistake, but that’s not important for the moment.

“What was Tyler’s plan?” she turns to Caroline, arching her neck, as though she’s the commander of an army rather than of the rebel, underground group. 

“We were going to put him in someone else’s body,” Caroline says. She hesitates, glancing down at her feet, and it’s then that Rebekah knows there is something more. “In yours, actually.”

Rebekah’s movements still. Her body stiffens, though she shrugs it off. “Oh,” she begins pacing again. “Excellent plan, shoddy execution.” Pressing a finger to her chin, Rebekah doesn’t gaze at Stefan as he snaps his bones back into place. “If we are to follow that path - assuming he does not know about it - then we’ll need another body.”

“Know any?” Stefan groans, snapping his other ankle in place. Glaring up at her, his hands encircle the bone, rubbing at the skin.

Rebekah pauses. “You mentioned a werewolf,” she turns to Caroline, pointing at her.

“Did I?” Caroline glances down at Stefan, obviously uncertain of Rebekah’s obvious train of thought.

Rebekah, despite the hesitation on the two do-gooders parts, smiles.

 

 

The third:

“She snapped your neck,” Rebekah hisses at Caroline. The Grill’s bathroom is not big enough to house the tension between the two, but it’ll do. Rebekah’s back is to the mirror as Caroline remains at the door, her eyes constantly glued to Rebekah’s form, whether actual or reflection. “I don’t like you in the slightest but I am not fond at all of people who take to snapping people’s necks as though they’re twigs,” she says, her voice biting at the end.

“She’ll die,” Caroline says, defiant. It’s that fire that she sees, right then, that she’s been seeing all evening since the moment they crossed the threshold of the Grill, that she thinks has her brother, the giant, overwhelming wolf, turning into a meek, pathetic moth. “I’m not going to kill her.”

“If not her, it’ll be you,” Rebekah tilts her head to the side. “Werewolves are beasts at heart. If she does not die, you will.” Straightening, Rebekah’s eyes travel up Caroline’s form before they sit on her collarbone. “Tyler may not wish to bite you, but I know someone who might feel the urge.”

Caroline still doesn’t like it, but they manage to corner Hayley by the pool table, Rebekah wrapping her arm around her back almost like a ribbon on a Christmas present. In Caroline’s hand remains the pool cue, snapped in half, while the patrons of the Grill remain oblivious. Either they’re stupid or smart, Rebekah’s not sure, but their ignorance works to her advantage as she pulls the werewolf outside for Caroline to drive the stick into her stomach.

“Not critical enough to kill,” Rebekah muses, a little bored, a little disappointed, but she feels pride - just a little - at Caroline’s accurate aim. “But it’ll hurt come morning.”

Caroline uses that opportunity to elbow Hayley hard across the face. 

 

 

The fourth:

“We can’t kill someone,” Stefan says, and it’s the same goddamn song all over again. Rebekah rolls her eyes as well as her neck as Stefan stands, defiant, as though he’s the only one without blood on his hands. She sees his, despite being clean, are dripping. “She’s _innocent_.”

“And so were all the people you had the young Gilbert murder,” Rebekah drones on. “Don’t think I don’t know, Stefan. The mark only branches out at the expense of lives.” She shrugs, not caring for his gaping mouth or the shock on his face. “People talk.”

“It’s the only way to get rid of Klaus _and_ another threat,” Caroline says.

“Hayley might have information we need -”

“And we’ll find another way to get it,” Rebekah says, voice hard. “Doesn’t everyone around here keep a diary?”

“So not the point,” Caroline mumbles.

Rebekah rolls her eyes, “Think of it as putting her temporarily on ice. We’re not putting the poor mutt down, Stefan.”

“She’s still a person -”

“So was I,” Rebekah’s voice is hard. “And you did not blink when he slipped that dagger into my chest. Just because I saw it coming doesn’t mean you didn’t stab me in the back.”

Stefan remains silent. Standing stiffly, his arms cross against his chest. “Bonnie won’t go for this.”

“It will if it means the worst enemy you have is put to rest.” 

 

 

The fifth:

Bonnie’s so not going for this.

Rebekah sighs, arms crossed against her chest, while wondering if this saga will ever end. Bonnie stands defiant, an aggravating stone wall impenetrable and immovable, but she knows a way to crack that armour. “Your mother is a vampire,” Rebekah says over the lull of Caroline comforting Bonnie. Despite being on their side, Caroline switches quite easily from being a black piece to a white on the chess board. “Hayley is merely a pawn. If you help me, I’ll ensure that cure goes to her.”

Bonnie’s eyes narrow. Her gaze falls from Caroline. “How can I trust you?”

“You can’t,” Rebekah shrugs. “Just as I can’t trust you. You have what I want and I have the chance of gaining you what you desire.” She sees the tiniest of shifts in Bonnie; Rebekah’s forgotten how annoying Bennett witches can be. 

The room is too quiet for far too long. As Caroline’s mouth begins to shape a word, Rebekah says, loudly, “You have my word.”

It works for Elijah. There’s a quiet moment of Caroline breathing as Bonnie mulls it over. Rebekah’s almost afraid she’ll say no, that her word isn’t as good as her brother’s, but Bonnie passes a glance to her friend before her gaze settles back onto her.

“Fine,” Bonnie says through gritted teeth. “You stab me in the back and all bets are off. I’ll make sure the next time there’s a dagger in your heart that it stays there permanently.”

*

The one step that isn’t included is this:

Rebekah changes the plan. She snatches the white oak stake that had rested in her chest from Caroline Forbes, promising her, with her word, on the life of her brothers, that the cure will go to Abby Bennett, that she’ll never try to run another vehicle off the road, that she won’t be such a pain in the ass that Caroline will regret not keeping that stake in her arsenal.

She thinks Caroline is a fool at times, but she has never been as pleased to realise that this girl, who believes there is good in everyone, even the ugliest of men, sees that there is something worth trusting and befriending in Rebekah.

*

Hayley’s chained in the Salvatore basement. Rebekah merely watches her through the gaps in the bars on the door. Pouting and curled up like a wounded animal, she feels disinterested at the plight of a girl who has no footprint marked on this earth.

“All we need is Klaus,” Stefan says, standing on the other side of the room. Rebekah takes her time in turning her gaze from the wolf to him.

“I’ll get him,” Caroline says, though her voice is uncertain, ending on a high note as if asking a question. It’s then that Rebekah turns to look at the pair, standing side by side; one tall while the other wants to cower. Stefan has years of experience while Caroline’s still a lost little human girl trying to win a battle between the human and the animal. She knows her brother showing his softer side has Caroline questioning everything she is doing. Rebekah finds herself in the same boat.

Rebekah shakes her head, “No.” She’s not quite sure why she does it. Caroline is not a reflection of her, despite her blonde hair and her desire for love and to feel human, but Rebekah feels an urge to shield her from what is about to happen. Humanity is a weakness, but it is also her greatest strength. She’s not quite sure which end of the spectrum it sits at during this very moment. “I’ll do it.”

Caroline takes a step forward, “We’ll lose the advantage! He doesn’t know you’re back -”

“You’re brave, Caroline, but you are also stupid. You lead him to me and he’ll snap you in half and refuse to put the pieces back together if our plan fails.” Rebekah takes a step away from the door, taking a deep breath in as she signs herself over to a future that is in the dark. Much like how she spent the years after the roaring twenties, she fears the darkness, of how trapping and isolating it is, but having the chance to choose that darkness makes her certain there is light at the end of the tunnel. “This is between me and my brother. Get the wolf and the witch and allow me to do the rest.”

Stefan takes a step forward, choosing to close the distance between them. “Rebekah -”

“I don’t forgive you,” she shakes her head. “But I understand it. You’ll be getting no closure from me, Stefan.”

*

Rebekah wears her highest heel to ensure he hears the clicking against the tiles of his home. Her steps are measured and powerful as she happens upon him in the room she found herself lying in after he returned miraculously from the dead. Her arms remain behind her back, the white oak stake gripped tightly between her fingers.

“Rebekah,” his back is to her, but she’s sure he’s smiling around her name. It’s pulled, she’s certain, the kind of expression he wears to mask his surprising bursts of shock. Turning around, his eyes are hard while his mouth pulls upward, “What a pleasant surprise.”

She merely stands before him, back straight and neck arched in an attempt to wear him down. She’s forgotten he doesn’t wear; unlike the buildings, Niklaus does not crack and split under the hardest of weather.

At her silence, Nik merely sighs. He brushes it off like it doesn’t matter, that this little act of hers is merely temporary. He’ll wait her out, wear her down, and she’ll be back to worshipping the ground he walks on. “Lets not waste time with pleasantries, then. How is it you’re out of your coffin, dear sister?”

“I’m not your sister,” she finds herself saying, voice hard, though it wavers as though the wind is carrying it to him. His gaze is slow and lazy as it travels from the ground back to her face. “I may have missed a few weeks, but I’m not stupid.”

“No one ever said you were, ‘Bekah,” he grins, though, she knows his patience is wearing very thin. “You know I said those things in the heat of the moment.”

She shakes her head. “No,” she takes a step forward. His smile falls quickly, his mouth turning into a thin, mean line as he glares her down. She doesn’t move any closer, but she shows she isn’t frightened of him. Her eyes stray to his hands, marked with paint. “I’m tired, Nik. Of fighting for you. Of fighting you.” She looks him dead in the eye, her own starting to burn with tears she hates herself for having, “I’m tired of never being enough.”

Nik merely looks at her, his face unreadable despite being hard, and she knows that, somewhere, deep down, she’s hit the boy he used to be. He’s just too far gone he cannot find his way to the surface. Drowning in a creature she no longer recognises, she misses that fearful, prideful, determined young man. She could turn her back to him and know he wouldn’t slip anything into the canvas of her back.

“I’m not your sister when you feel like it,” she continues, taking another step forward. “I’m your sister. Always and forever.” While she’s advancing, her arms untie from her back, coming to rest at her sides. His gaze falls on the stake, though he’s not surprised. Rebekah has never bothered to hide her weaponry around him, whether fighting beside him or against him. 

His eyes fall onto hers. She thinks he should take a few steps back, perhaps beg for his life, but he merely stands, tall, defiant, like he knows she’ll give eventually. There is a soft spot and he knows hers; loneliness, a life without him, it all comes back to the man standing before her. “There’s no need to be rash, ‘Bekah.”

“It’s not rash, Nik,” she stops when she’s a few paces in front of him. “I’ve had a lot of time to think.”

“‘Bekah -”

“You gave me the gift of family,” she says, glancing down. “But you also tore away the branches of family I tried to make for myself. You may not have your hybrids anymore, but you no longer have your sister, either.” 

His hard mask falls, his eyes pleading, his mouth falling open, and Rebekah hates that she questions its genuineness, whether he really means she’s hurting him as brutal as a white oak to the heart, or if he’s merely trying to manipulate her to fall to his whims. 

“That was your choice,” she says, voice quiet. For all her strength, she’s not quite sure she’s in proper possession of it right now. Her steps sound quieter as she comes closer, until there’s merely a breath between them. “Not mine.”

“Rebekah -”

Impulse has always driven Rebekah when Niklaus is concerned. She does not question her actions or words or feelings, and she does not, not even in this moment where questions raise around her, asking her to stop, to think, to perhaps leave him be, to hear him speak, but she crushes them with her mouth against his. Pulling her arm back, she plunges the stake into his heart. 

Pulling her arms around him, he withers beneath her. She falls with him.

*

Part two of the plan does not go as previously drawn up.

“Leave,” she says, her back to Stefan and Caroline. Their footsteps hesitate, but they echo as they ascend up the stairs. She does not want them here for this, for the murder of a girl caught in the wrong web, but Rebekah, for all she is, is not someone who wishes for an audience.

Opening the door, she stares down at the girl. Hayley sneers at her, lip curled, but doesn’t speak. Rebekah’s face is blank as she arches a brow at her. “Get up and leave. But I warn you, you place a dagger into my back, and I’ll ensure you feel every snap of every bone in your body for as long as you live.”

Rebekah will state she’s not quite sure why she lets Hayley go if asked, but a part of her knows she’s tired of dancing with wolves. From the day Niklaus’ true form was revealed, she’s been lingering in forests, stalked by the shadows of dogs, and she’s determined to create a new path fur-free.

She may have the belly of a monster, but she has the heart of a girl.

*

With Klaus - not Nik - in his coffin, face grey and the veins drawing paths along his skin, Rebekah places him deep into the Lockwood cellar. As she did not deserve much from him, even to have her coffin locked far away from the likes of Stefan Salvatore, she does not bury him in the woods by a tree that reminds her of the past. 

“Do it,” she says.

Bonnie voice is deep as she closes her eyes and almost sings in Latin. The earth does not open up beneath them, but his coffin disappears from site, buried underneath the dirt and gravel and hard cement, waiting for her to decide when it’s time to allow him to rise again.

*

What Rebekah does not forget, among all the things, from the look on his face when she closed her eyes and daggered him, is his smile or his breath on her cheek or how loved she had once felt.

She does feel it, still.


End file.
